A routine part of my work when I start a conservation project or an investigative assignment is to go to the archives of the National Museum and find pertinent documents, photographs and drawings relating to my case, which could reveal information about historical conditions and treatments. Preparing for my project in Sanderum Church, I found documents and drawings revealing a fascinating story of prudery and moral outrage on the part of the church community, which led to the limewashing parts of newly uncovered wall paintings in 1882. I have related part of this story in an earlier thread http://www.icom-cc.org/forums/viewtopic.php?f=24&t=44. What upset the community were two scenes on the north and south webs of a vault, depicting, respectively, St. Peter standing before the gates of Heaven greeting a group of naked men and women; and the damned souls being dragged into the Mouth of Hell and tortured by various devils. The main focus of the moral outcry was directed against one devil in particular, who was endowed with clearly visible genitals. The architect responsible for the renovation of the church at the time of the discovery of the wall paintings championed for the preservation of the scenes. He lost the confrontation, but was cleaver enough to hire an artist to make watercolour drawings of the two scenes before they were limewashed over. This is not the only case of moral censorship practiced against medieval wall paintings in Denmark: Among numerous examples we have the unique decoration in Raaby Church depicting among its many fantasy figures a Cyclops and a Sciapod (a mythological creature with a single, large foot extending from one thick leg centred in the middle of its body) with an erect phallus, which was limewashed over in 1919; in the Church of May Magdalene paintings uncovered in 1910 depicted (among other scenes) a woman with exposed buttocks vomiting into a cup being tortured by a devil holding a torch to her anus. They were limewashed shortly after they were exposed. In both of these cases photographical documentation was carried out before limewashing was carried out (Figures 1 and 2).

Figure 1. The Sciapod uncovered in Raaby Church in 1918, and covered with limewash in 1919. (Photo: E. Rothe)

Figure 2. The censored scene from the Church of Mary Magdalena uncovered in 1910 and shortly therefter limewashed over. (Photo: E. Rothe).

In all three of these cases, sentiment on the part of the church communities changed in recent times. In contrast to earlier, the church communities considered the censored scenes to be fascinating and desirable in their churches, and found the funding for restoring them. The scene in the Church of Mary Magdalene was re-uncovered in 1964; the paintings in Raaby were re-uncovered in 1976; and I have re-uncovered the two scenes in Sanderum over the course of nine months in 2010.

It was interesting to compare the newly re-uncovered paintings with the watercolours from 1882 in Sanderum (Figures 3 and 4; Figures 5 and 6). Even before re-uncovering the paintings, it was clear that the documentation was executed with a large dose of artistic license. The 19th century aesthetic was particularly recognizable on the faces of the figures. The artist even practiced self-censorship – the devil’s genitals were not recorded. Other noticeable details were recorded incorrectly – the strong red contours were draw with a thin black line.

Figure 3 (top). The recently uncovered south web in Sanderum Church. (Photo: I. Brajer)Figure 4 (below) The watercolour drawing made in 1886 before the scene was covered with limewash. (Archive of The National Museum)

Figure 5 (top). The recently uncovered south web in Sanderum Church. (Photo: I. Brajer)Figure 6 (below) The watercolour drawing made in 1886 before the scene was covered with limewash. (Archive of The National Museum)

One can imagine that working conditions on scaffoldings in the 19th century were rather difficult. We have seen photographs of scaffolds consisting of a few loose boards on a rickety construction. Petroleum lamps were used for lighting, in contrast to our 1000W lamps imitating sunlight nowadays (there is no evidence that limelight was used in church restorations in Denmark). We know that many watercolour drawings were completed at home, based on sketches executed in situ. The archive at the National Museum is full of such sketches – pencil drawings with the names of colours written in specific fields or noted on the margins: background - blue; or hair – red. Accompanying these sketches are the finished watercolours, a bit stiffer and less spontaneous than the original paintings. I have often encountered errors on such home-produced watercolour documentation.

Taking the incorrectness of this type of documentation into account, especially in light of the demands for documentation accuracy nowadays, we might ask ourselves what is its current value. Obviously, it is valuable as a historical document that divulges information about more than just iconographic content. In Sanderum I was happy to have these watercolours. They gave me an indication of where the figures were placed under the concealing limewash, and my sensitivity for details was sharpened when I knew in advance what part of the composition I was uncovering. In contrast to the often experienced feeling of uncovering a mysterious colourful blob, here I was able to know that the colourful blob was the ear of a devil. What this type of watercolour documentation does not record is the condition of the painting, and therefore it is of not much value when assessing deterioration phenomena. For many years, that type of information seemed best recorded photographically, but modern criteria now demand supplementing photography with condition mapping executed with the help of various computer software programs.

One of the first persons in the field of conservation sensitive to the advantages and drawbacks of drawn documentation vs. photography was Eigil Rothe, a Danish wall paintings conservator active in the years 1897-1929. A pioneer in the use of photography in conservation, he nevertheless considered watercolour drawings an essential supplement to the documentation. His drawings record areas with missing colour, cracks in the plaster and exposed bricks (Figure 7).

On early black/white photographs, the red colour of the exposed brick could be mistaken for the iron oxide colours used in the painting. According to Rothe, only the human eye could record this difference. He also warned that photographs could give wrong information about hues. The early orthochromatic plates (used from 1882) were not sensitive to red colours, which were recorded as almost black areas on the photograph. Panchromatic plates sensitive to all colours were available from 1906. Rothe calls attention to the difference in the two systems by presenting before and after treatment photographs from Vilslev Church, which were recorded respectively on orthochromatic plates in 1913, and panchromatic plates in 1914 (Figure 8 and 9).

When colour photography became available after 1907, Rothe embraced it as the best supplement for black/white photographic documentation. From 1912 onwards, he no longer made watercolour drawings, but repeatedly stressed the importance of recording the paintings both in black/white and in colour (Figure 10). There are around 290 Autochrome plates made by Rothe in the archive of the National Museum. But are they useful in assessing changes in the condition when compared to today’s photographic documentation? (Figure 11).

Authochrome photography was not always reliable when it came to colour reproduction. Rothe knew this and often noted in a notebook cases where colour reproduction was true to nature. However, it is possible that the enormous difference in colours between the 1913 and 2008 photographs can be explained by the past practice of wetting the surface of the paintings to capture a clearer image on the photograph.

We often use historical photographs to study and compare various stages while performing treatments nowadays. The best photographs are often the old black/white photographs taken in the beginning of the 20th century, as in the case of the infamous paintings in Raaby Church. Unfortunately, these paintings were treated with zinc hexafluorosilicate in the 1960s, and have now completely deteriorated (Figure 12). The church community is interested in recreating the original iconographic content, an ironic twist of fate for this decoration, once censored, now regarded with so much interest that a reproduction is proposed. Rothe’s photographs from 1918 are now the only source of information about what these paintings looked like, and would be invaluable if such a project be undertaken.

Figure 12. The current condition of the Sciapod scene in Raaby Church. (Photo: I. Brajer)